Side Bet
by L.M.Lewis
Summary: Mark's life gets suddenly more complicated.


Disclaimer: These characters are not mine and I make no profit from them.

Rated: K

Author's Notes: Mattie Groves is from 'Poker Night'. Kathy Kasternack is 'One of the Girls from Accounting'. Mark is in trouble.

Thank you to Owl and Susan Z, kind betas, and to Cheri, who didn't laugh when I put Mattie on the short list.

**Side Bet**

By L. M. Lewis

It was a Saturday morning, just past the height of spring, and, after a long week at the Law Center, where the nine-to-fives had crept over into the eight-to-seven-thirties, Hardcastle was ready to sit back, put his feet up, and contemplate whether or not Murray would be worth two and a half million to the Dodgers this year.

That was when he noticed the guy approaching up the drive, dressed suspiciously like a lawyer, except that he'd apparently left his briefcase back at the gate house. He heard the front door open without a knock.

He exhaled as he heard the shouted greeting from the hallway. "Hey, Judge?"

"Hey, yourself," he replied to the nattily-dressed man, as Mark stepped into the doorway of the den. "You didn't notice it was Saturday?"

Mark smiled. "Sure I noticed. Whaddaya think?" He shrugged his shoulders once, to shake down the lines of the jacket. "Too formal?"

"For Judge Halverson, no. Jenkins'd probably think you were showing off." Hardcastle gave him a quick, all-purpose grimace. "But it's _Saturday_. No court."

"Not court," McCormick's smile became a grin, "court-_ing. _A lunch date. I'm thinking that new place down in Santa Barbara. It's supposed to be pretty nice. I want to make a good first impression."

Hardcastle's grimace became a frown. It was four months too late to be talking about first impressions with Kathy Kasternack, even five years too late, if you allowed for her hiatus in New York, and Kathy was the only woman he'd noticed on McCormick's dance card the past few months.

"Ah . . ." he tried to frame the question. McCormick stepped into the gap.

"Well, not really a first impression—"

Hardcastle let out a premature sigh of relief.

"—but a first date, you know."

The questioning frown was back.

"And I _do_ want to make a good impression." Mark let out a sigh of his own. He sounded either besotted, or constipated, Hardcastle wasn't sure which. "You know, I'm really glad we had that talk last Thursday."

"What talk?" the judge asked suspiciously.

"You know," Mark coaxed, "after the poker game, after everybody left."

The frown was threatening to become permanent. Then it was slowly replaced by a growing look of horror that Mark seemed to accept as encouragement.

"Yeah," the younger man smiled beatifically, "about Mattie."

"What I _said_ was," Hardcastle drew himself up in his chair, "that she's a Superior Court Justice and _you're_ a wet-behind-the-ears lawyer, and you really ought to stop flirting with somebody you might have to present a case in front of someday."

Mark nodded, still beatific as hell. "And I said—"

"'Who's flirting?'" Hardcastle interjected.

"Right," Mark nodded, apparently pleased to see they were both on the same page. "And then you said a woman like that would never take someone like me seriously."

"She's old enough to be your _mother_, McCormick."

"Well," Mark seemed to be giving this a little thought, "I suppose, but she would have had to have started kinda young. Anyway, I politely disagreed with you. I said lots of older women like younger men."

"Not Mattie, not you," the judge said exasperatedly. "It's a joke; you guys have been doing it for _years_ now."

"See, now," Mark chided gently, "there you go. She's not a _guy_; she happens to be a very fascinating woman."

"And I said I'd bet she would never even consider dating you seriously . . . and you . . ." Hardcastle let his forehead slowly drop onto his palm. "Oh my God." He raised his eyes again. "I can't believe this. It's some kinda nightmare. It was the pepperoni."

"No," the aggravating smile was back, "I got to thinking about it, Judge. What does the age difference really mean? Nothing, except that she's a lot more experienced, more _worldly_, than the other women I've gone out with."

Hardcastle stared at him, waiting for the punch line. It took the better part of thirty seconds before he finally realized there wasn't any. Mark was reaching up and fussing with the knot of his tie, every bit the young professional man. _Not even all that young, when you considered it . . ._

"Wait a sec," Hardcastle shook his head to clear it. "What about _Kathy_?"

Mark froze in mid-movement. His smile had gotten a little thinner, then he shrugged once, though not so lightly as before.

"Well, Judge, you know she did walk out on me once. Maybe she was right. I don't know. Maybe we should just be _friends_."

It had to be the pepperoni. There was no other answer. He had _seen_ those two together the past couple of months. He was ready to swear, in open court if necessary, that '_friends_' didn't cover it.

_On the other hand, this is McCormick—the last time he made a commitment, it ended up landing him in San Quentin. _

Maybe he just needed some breathing room.

_But Mattie?_

All right, he supposed, the kid had his points; he was funny, and pretty sharp. He could hold his own at a poker table, and maybe Mattie wasn't _quite_ old enough to be his mother.

He sighed one last time. "Okay, so when are you picking her up?"

Mark glanced down at his watch and looked up again, smiling broadly. "It's eleven-oh-five. She'll be here any minute." Then he gave the judge a slightly more critical look. "I don't suppose you'd maybe consider . . ." he gestured toward the judge's usual Saturday ensemble. "I mean—"

"_I'm_ not the one trying to make an impression here," Hardcastle huffed. "This is how I dress at home. I like being _comfortable_."

The look he got from McCormick was a cross between disapproval and pleading, and it was pretty damn effective, Hardcastle thought.

"All right," he finally grunted. "I don't want to be accused of throwing a monkey wrench into your love life." He shook his head, muttering, 'Mattie Groves' once more, under his breath, as he lumbered out of his chair and up the stairs.

By the time he'd gotten his robe off, and donned a shirt and tie, and a sport coat, he heard Mattie's lilting laugh floating up from the front hallway. It sounded not too different from a hundred other times he'd heard her joking with McCormick. When he was halfway down the stairs, she turned, looking up at him, a smile on her face. Her eyes sparkled. She somehow seemed younger. Mark was looking at her fondly.

"Hello, Milt," she said cheerily.

He couldn't help but smile back; she looked so happy. _If he hurts her, I'll kill him._ He frowned, but covered it with a quick cough. _She's a professional woman, experienced, a very good judge of character. She knows the kid, for Pete's sake. She can take care of herself._

"Hello, Mattie." He tried his darnedest to sound perfectly comfortable about this whole situation, but she seemed to sense all the stuff going on underneath and reached out to touch his arm lightly.

"Funny how things work out, isn't it, Milt?" She smiled back warmly at McCormick. "All those years . . ."

Hardcastle bit his tongue and still managed to keep the smile on his face, no easy task, and it was starting to feel a little brittle. Mark seemed to be taking a few deep breaths, too.

"Well," Mattie broke off lightly, "You said we have reservations for eleven-forty-five?" She glanced down at her watch. "Maybe I could just visit the powder room before we leave." She turned lightly on her heel and headed down the hall.

Hardcastle barely waited until she was out of sight before he grabbed McCormick's elbow and towed him back into the den.

"_You_," he began in a whisper that under any other circumstances would have been a bellow, "had better know what you're doing." He'd backed the younger man up against the desk, one finger on the middle of his chest. "Because if you—"

"No, really, Judge," McCormick had both palms up, facing out, very placating, "I do; I've thought it all the way through. _Really_."

And almost as if on cue, Hardcastle's eyes were drawn upward by some movement seen through the front window—the arrival of a car that had become all-too-familiar in the past few months. He said nothing, but the change in his look alone would have been enough to warn the other man that something was horribly wrong.

McCormick looked over his shoulder, then stiffened, then shot a quick look back at the judge.

"You maybe forgot about another appointment?" Hardcastle asked dryly.

He could see Kathy climbing out of the driver's seat slowly, then reaching back into the car for her purse and jacket, as though she was expecting to be staying a while. She took a quick look around, then headed back up the drive toward the gatehouse.

Mark stood frozen, as though he was afraid to look again. He was a little flushed, and his lips were moving slightly, silently. It might have been a prayer.

"You explained to her about the just being friends, yet?" Hardcastle asked practically.

A quick shake of the younger man's head.

Hardcastle looked over his own shoulder toward the hallway by which Mattie would be returning momentarily. Then he looked back at McCormick, still standing frozen.

"I think you got a problem here, kiddo."

This seemed to galvanize the other man, as though he'd suddenly realized the glowing red numbers were counting down and he was standing at ground zero.

"Ah," the wheels of thought were quite visibly turning, "maybe not."

"Yeah," Hardcastle nodded, "you _do_."

"Wait a sec." He had Hardcastle by the lapels now, the way a drowning man holds on to a life preserver. "Wait, I have an idea." He frowned, then lifted his gaze with a gleam of hope. "It might work."

"Yeah, if you run for the car right now," Hardcastle postulated, "I can probably hold them both off with the shotgun for a few minutes."

"No," McCormick said sternly, "let's get serious here. There's two of us, and two of _them_. If we can just keep it a little vague . . . all we have to do is get through lunch."

Hardcastle stared at him for a full three seconds before he blurted out, "Not a _chance_, McCormick."

"Shh," Mark looked guiltily toward the hallway, then clutched for the lapels again. "Listen," he dropped his voice even further. Hardcastle felt his gaze, very intent, "how many times have I saved your life?"

"Not sure," the judge muttered after a moment. "Never counted."

"You mean you _lost_ count," Mark said, a little impatiently.

"Well," Hardcastle huffed, "I've saved _yours_ a few times, too."

"Yeah," Mark snapped back, "but mine never woulda _needed_ saving if I hadn't been working for you."

"Okay," the judge admitted, "maybe, but this is _never_ gonna work."

McCormick brow was knitted in concentration. "Just follow my lead." He looked up sharply. "You can do that, just this once?"

There was a long pause, punctuated by two raps on the front door that, for all their innocence, might still have been the knell of doom. Mark's gaze shifted sharply to the side, then back again.

"All _right_," Hardcastle exhaled. "But it won't work."

He stepped back a little, and the younger man shot him a quick and worried grin before he slipled out and into the hallway. The judge followed along behind, a little more reluctantly, and was in time to see Kathy beaming up at the kid.

"_Friends_," he muttered under his breath. Then he mastered his face as Kathy turned her smile on him, as well.

"You both forgot," she sighed in cheerful resignation. "I knew I should have reminded you."

Mark looked as blank as Hardcastle himself felt.

"You wanted me to go over your records." She'd slipped away from the door and over to Hardcastle's side.

"Oh, yeah." Mark shook his head once and then looked sharply at the judge. "You were worried that we were starting to show a profit." The younger man put his hand to his forehead. "Was that _today_?"

"I, ah . . ." Hardcastle searched his memory and drew a blank. He shrugged. "Mighta been."

"Well, it was." Kathy nodded once definitively, then she suddenly seemed to notice the jackets and ties. "But you were going out?"

"Just lunch," Mark said hastily, "with an old friend of Hardcastle's." He smiled blandly. "Judge Groves." He cocked his head a little to the side, and added quietly, "Networking, it never ends."

"Oh," Kathy looked a little disappointed. "Well . . ."

"Maybe you could join us?" The judge heard himself say it, and experienced a brief moment of moral vertigo.

Mark slid right into the sentence with a nod of agreement and, "You'll like Mattie, she's been a friend of the judge's for _years_." There was something in the guy's smile that implied way more than the words. Hardcastle cringed internally.

"Oh?" Kathy said, and her eyes had suddenly gone a bit more interested. "_Mattie_ Groves. You've mentioned her, Mark. I remember. She's the one who plays poker."

Kathy was beaming fully in the judge's direction now, with the infernal contentment of a woman who is happily in love and wants everyone else to be in the same predicament. Hardcastle smiled wanly at her as she put her arm around his and gave it a little squeeze.

Steps from the other end of the hallway—they all three looked up. Mattie smiled.

Mark started into the introductions smoothly. "This is Kathy Kasternack—"

Mattie's eyes lit in recognition. "_The_ Kathy Kasternack," she smiled broadly. "One of the chief prosecution witnesses in that big police scandal trial a few years back."

"The very same," Mark added over Kathy's blushes.

"Milt's told me a lot about you," Mattie nodded once at the man Kathy was still gently attached to. "He said you were very observant, not to mention cool under fire." This last bit had been added with another nod, something more serious that might have bordered on gratitude. "You saved Mark's life."

Kathy was genuinely blushing now. "And you're Judge Groves," she ducked her head. "I've heard a lot about you from these two." She gave Hardcastle's arm another brief squeeze before she disengaged.

"Well," Mattie's delighted look took in Kathy and the judge, then she turned her head fractionally toward Mark, "You two will be joining us for lunch?"

The words hung there, dangerously unattached for a fraction of a second, until Hardcastle found his place in the script and announced, jovially, and non-specifically, "Of course, why not? A foursome," and Mark let out a subtle sigh of relief.

They were already out the door before the judge realized there was yet another hurdle. It might have been his quick, anxious look at McCormick that Kathy picked up on.

"You really ought to have a vehicle that seats more than three in a pinch," she said practically. "Yours or mine?' She said lightly to Mattie.

"Oh, I think mine is marginally larger," Mattie nodded at her vehicle. "But I say we make Mark drive, and we'd better let the guys have the front seat. I didn't buy it for roominess."

Hardcastle was breathing again. The women were chatting away as they walked toward Mattie's car—instant friends bonding over mutual happiness, just _how_ mutual was the scary part.

Mark had maneuvered around them to arrive at the near-side rear passenger door first. He opened it in an act of gallantry that was far enough in advance of the female contingent to be non-specific. Kathy stepped back in a gesture that might have been age before beauty, except that both women would have claimed that their brains were their best feature.

Mattie sat down and slid across, and Kathy joined her. Mark closed the door with a quick smile that took in both women, crisis averted. To Hardcastle, he didn't even appear to be breaking a sweat, a clear indicator that facing down insanely dangerous criminals on a semi-regular basis was useful training for _something_.

And then they were off. The talk was mostly from the back seat. Mark had a fairly rigid smile on his face, and Hardcastle was half-tempted to challenge him to a pulse count, except that he wasn't sure who'd lose. He became vaguely aware that he hadn't been monitoring the conversation for a moment or two, and that the topic had drifted into relationships.

"When you reach a certain age," Mattie said philosophically, "you start to reconcile yourself. After all, you have a career."

"Too true," Kathy sighed. "That's important."

"But then you start to think maybe you've missed out on something—"

"And it might be too late."

"But the important thing," Mattie smiled, "is to keep yourself open to the possibilities—"

"Someone you've known all along," Kathy agreed. "No matter how unlikely."

"Even if there's an age difference," Mattie sighed.

"Well . . . it's not _that_ much," Kathy frowned just slightly.

"No," Mattie added hastily. "It's all relative."

Hardcastle watched McCormick's hands as they slowly tightened on the wheel. The tension had translated itself into a little more speed, but, other than that, he was still outwardly calm. He was not challenging this man to a pulse check.

00000

Twenty dollars, quietly passed by Hardcastle to the maitre d', expanded the reservation from two to four without any comment. They were ushered in to a table and seated. The conversation had taken a drift to neutral territory and then stayed safely moored in recent cases at the Law Center through the ordering and the serving of the food.

The judge had almost felt his neck muscles loosening up for a moment. He'd even managed to swallow a few bites of food, though he wasn't entirely sure what it was he had ordered. And Mark was looking positively relaxed, when Kathy looked around casually and said, "I'll just be a minute." She frowned lightly and leaned a little toward Mattie. "Do you know where—?"

Mattie looked up and said, "Oh, no, but I'll join you. I think we passed it on the way in."

Then they were both up, without another word, and wending their way off in search of the ladies' room. Mark was left staring after them with a look of stark horror on his face.

"Aw, women do that. It's a group thing." Hardcastle tried for falsely reassuring, even though he, too, felt disaster looming ahead.

"They'll _talk_," Mark gasped.

"Yeah," Hardcastle shrugged stiffly. "That's what they do. They've been talking since the get-go."

"They'll talk about _us_."

"No," the judge corrected, "they'll talk about _you_. I'm just an innocent by-stander, here."

"Nope," Mark shook his head. "Mattie definitely thinks you and Kathy are an item. And Kathy thinks it's you and Mattie. Definitely. You are going to be on the agenda in there."

Hardcastle looked worriedly off in the direction in which the two had departed.

"I think," Mark said quietly, "if they aren't gone too long, that'll be a good sign."

Hardcastle checked his watch. "How long is too long?" he asked.

"I don't know," Mark shook his head again. "They're women. It's a mystery."

The judge sighed windily. "Well, it was a nice try." There was a moment of silence. He looked up. Mark was smiling fondly at him.

"It was," the younger man said. "Thank you. I appreciated it."

"Well," Hardcastle drawled, "I _told_ you it wouldn't work."

"Yeah," Mark's grin was almost impish, "but you tried anyway. Thanks." Then he let out a sigh of his own and dropped his voice a little. "But it's not over yet."

Hardcastle caught his upward glance and followed it. The two women were approaching. Their expressions looked a tad more serious, but not hostile. Mark was wearing a benign smile, as though it was all out of his hands now, and he'd somehow accepted it.

The two women had taken their seats, and hardly a second had passed before Mattie turned her gaze full on Hardcastle for a moment.

"Milt," she said quietly, with a wise, and knowing, and _judicial_ smile; one that invited disclosure, "is there something you wanted to tell me?"

He glanced sharply at McCormick, who suddenly seemed a lot less relaxed, but wasn't opening his mouth, and Kathy, whose own half-smile was a little more anxious.

His eyes narrowed a little. "About what?" he asked cautiously.

"Well," Mattie sighed patiently, "maybe something about a bet you made with Mark here."

There was a long pause, and then Hardcastle skewered the younger man with a quick look. "I've been _had_, eh?"

Mark smiled nervously. "Well . . ."

"_That_," the judge turned back to Mattie, and said emphatically, "was really more in the line of an off-hand comment on probability."

"Now, come _on_, Judge," McCormick protested mildly, "when you say 'I'll bet you', followed by an amount, followed by a clause beginning with 'that', I think it pretty much defines a gentleman's wager."

"Only," Mattie interrupted, "_gentlemen_ do not wager on such things as whether or not a woman would be interested in one of them." This time her look took in the younger man as well. "_Right_, Mark?"

"Absolutely, Mattie," Mark nodded with the conviction of the recently converted.

Kathy looked a little more baffled. "You mean you actually _tried_, Mark? But I thought—"

"Don't worry, Kathy," Mattie smiled. "He didn't put his heart into it. I'm not sure which one of us started laughing first."

"Oh, _you_ did," Mark shook his head sadly. "I think it was a new track record for me. Under three seconds."

"Well, I might have been more flattered if you'd kept a straight face, Mark."

There was a moment of silence. Kathy seemed a little less tense.

Hardcastle's expression lightened. "Then I won the twenty."

This got him a glare from the other three.

"Well," he said quietly, "I _did_, right?"

Mark was frowning now. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small notebook, flipping it open. "All right, I suppose. But I'm half tempted to argue a technical—I mean, I'm here, and Mattie's here and we're at a restaurant."

"This is not a date," Hardcastle protested. "This is a con."

"Aw, Milt," Mattie smiled more graciously, "it was only fair. I helped you finagle him into that swearing-in ceremony down at the courthouse. I kind of owed the kid one."

"And she _is_ out," Mark argued, "and she is _with me_. And those were the terms of the bet." He pulled a pencil out of his inside pocket. "But I'll give it to you," he sighed, "because otherwise you'll grouse about it for a week, and that's a hard way to make twenty bucks." He wrote something into the notebook, and then peered at it a little more closely.

"Okay, now," he finally went on, "with regards to the side bet. Mattie, I have you down for ten dollars at three to one that he wouldn't back me up on this."

"You made her give you _odds_?" Hardcastle looked a little chagrined.

"Well, at least I was willing to take the action," Mark shrugged, "and I did have to pull out that 'How many times have I saved your life?' bit. I shoulda asked for five to one." He shook his head.

Mattie had her wallet out and was counting out three tens.

Mark forked two of them over to Hardcastle, who accepted them with a very small grunt of satisfaction.

"Then there's my ten dollars," Kathy held out her hand expectantly. "The even odds you gave me that he _wouldn't_ back you up."

Mark handed over the other ten, and shrugged again at Hardcastle's look of disappointed disbelief. "Come on, Judge, I had to lay-off the bet I made with Mattie, just in case. I'm kinda tapped out this week."

"How can you be tapped out?" Hardcastle huffed. "I know you're not making the going rate, but you don't even pay any rent."

"And you gave her _even_ odds," Mattie interjected, looked mildly miffed, "and I only got three to one _against?_"

"Well, after all," Mark explained patiently, "she _is_ my fiancée." He went on, apparently oblivious to the sudden silence. "I had to move the line a _little_ for her . . . and, anyway, _that's_ why I'm tapped out."

Kathy had taken her hand out of her lap; the stone on the ring caught the light. "Last night," she smiled, answering the unasked question, "but I promised not to wear it till after this 'date'."

"Oh, it's _lovely_," Mattie said with genuine pleasure in her voice. "I'm so happy for you both."

Hardcastle was flat-out grinning. "Him," he jerked one thumb in McCormick's direction, "I'll congratulate . . . but you," he reached for Kathy's hand, and took it warmly, "have my deepest sympathies." Then, after a moment, he asked, "You think it's too early for champagne?" as he looked over his shoulder, searching for the waiter.

Mark leaned in a little toward the two ladies, with a grin of his own. "Don't let that cheerful exterior fool you—five'll get you six, he's already plotting his revenge."

"Hah," the judge smiled, turning back from flagging down the server. "I wouldn't take that bet if I were you."


End file.
